Blood and Tears
by The Watchman
Summary: Set a year before Order 3066, a group of Amestris soldiers find themselves re-examining what they're truly fighting for as get they involved in something that might finally end the rebellion in Ishval. State Military and OC focused. Rated T for violence.


**Disclaimer:** Full Metal Alchemist and all related media/properties belong to Hiromu Arakawa (Manga) and Studio Bones (Both Anime).

**Author's Note: **Hey there, this fic is essentially a war story (ala Blackhawk Down, Saving Private Ryan) set during the Ishval Rebellion with a touch 'slice of life' into it. It's also worth mentioning this is my first FMA fic and my first for probably a year, so going easy on me would be much appreciated.

* * *

**Blood and Tears**

**Chapter 1:** **Dogs of War**

"My guy died, it's no big deal to me. I tag him, book him and bag him." Doc tells to himself. "I see too much of this shit. I can't lose sleep over him. I just can't."

He looks again at the letter from the parents of a kid who had been in his unit.

"Dear Doctor," they wrote. "Our son often mentioned you in his letters home and the wonderful things you did for the men in his company. If you can, please tell us how our boy died."

Their son had been sent home in a closed casket.

"Oh God," Doc heaves a sigh, more tired than anxious. "How am I going to answer this one?" _I'm sure hell ain't telling them he had cold beans and ham for breakfast, took some crap from the other guys about being a cherry and then get blown into fifty million pieces._

"Which was exactly what happened," He mutters under his breath.

Doc saved a lot of people's lives, but even he can't save them all. The son of the one who wrote this letter was one of them. You can only do much when a person gets blown up.

_And what would you tell them then?_ _The same garbage Central hands out?_

He had seen the letters the military gave to loved ones of those killed. After regretfully informing them of the soldier's demise, the letter would proceed to tell them the State's version of how and why that boy died. Much of the tale concentrates on the silence of the cold casket. As the story unfolds, it either ignores the humanity and individuality of the boy inside the box, relegating him to the cold storage of statistics, history and politics, or it capitalizes on the mystery of the coffin's contents elevating the blood and bones to a mystic realm of heroism or maybe even evil.

The story almost always gave more questions than answers but it looked better than just saying their son just died and they were sorry. That's probably what whoever writes these letters might think at least.

He closes his eyes._ That's not me._

The officer grabs hold of a pen on top of his desk and opens a drawer to pull out a clean sheet of paper. He begins writing a letter, explaining how the sixteen year old boy got into a fight with some guys who made fun of him being a cherry, meaning he was an inexperienced virgin who was more useful doing menial labor in the base rather out with them.

Doc found that funny, as he knew the soldiers who made the insult were boys themselves, most of whom were no older than he was and have only been in the company for about two weeks before the new boy came.

On a routine patrol with his platoon, the young youth practically stomped through the path, not looking for irregularities on the ground like he should have. The boy triggered a land mine rated at about 150 pounds of explosives. The resulting crater was the size of the average bedroom in a small two story home. Both his legs and one arm were torn off. One side of his skull was destroyed.

Six other men were killed with him and 13 others were wounded. It's a common way to die in out here in East Amestris, far more common than being killed in a firefight in fact.

The Ishval Rebellion would reach its seventh year in the coming five months. Despite the heavy loses on both sides, there was still no end in sight. In fact, it continues to spread despite the military's best efforts to contain it. Thousands of closed caskets were delivered to quiet graves all over the country and the number swells everyday.

_I regret to inform you that this is how your son died. _Doc writes, _I know this will be hard to accept but know that I am telling you the truth._ _I pray that by telling you the way it is, you will find some measure of closure. _

_With regrets,_

_Maj. Mikhail Enfield, 14th Infantry Battalion_

Mikhail or 'Doc' as he was called by most of the troops places his signature over his name, carefully folds it then slipping it into an envelope. He then stands up, turning to a double deck bed. He bends his six foot one frame to the lower bunk picking up his civilian clothes.

He takes off his uniform and the white T-shirt he wore underneath, revealing a lean but reasonably built body. He changes into a dark blue dress shirt, black blazer jacket and pants. After fixing his clothes a bit, he gets a small mirror and a comb. After propping the mirror on the side of the bed's top bunk, his green eyes look into it as he grooms his short dark brown hair. He notes his beard was starting to grow, but decides to shave at his place in Central instead. It's not like a welcome wagon was waiting for him when he arrived.

Mikhail folds his uniform and places it on the bed. He picks up his canvas sack bag, slinging it over his shoulder and snatches the letter, slipping it into his coat pocket. Normally he would give it to the sergeant in charge of the post but he knew the censors may not like what he wrote, so he'll have to post it personally when he arrives at Central.

With that done, he heads out to the door.

* * *

As Doctor Enfield left the officer's barracks, Captain Wyatt Thompson stands vigil along with a sergeant in one of the compound's watchtowers. Not that he's expecting the Ishvalans to attack. The moon was out, light from it was strong enough to spot and identify anyone 500 yards off the compound perimeter. You didn't really need spotlights in nights like this, but they're excellent for concentrating base fire power on one spot. The real reason why he was up here with his binoculars was to identify subjects before soldiers manning the defense bunkers started blasting it on the grounds of suspicion.

When it came to night watch detail, everybody was trigger happy. Everybody.

One guy looks on the barbwire and sees an old ration box. The breeze hits it just right and it flaps. He fires three rounds at it. Another guy across the compound lets three rounds out of his bunker. All of a sudden, the machine gunner down there decides, "Hell, I've been sitting here two week doing nothing but watching the night go by." So he pulls the trigger. Then somebody at fire direction control calls for H&I, soon after that the whole front of the base gets pounded with 88mm. artillery shells. And you get yourself a full scale fight fire going on with probably nothing out there. You'll end up wasting a lot of valuable ammo and possibly killing somebody they're not supposed to kill, like friendly forces and civilians.

Thompson takes a deep breath, partially suppressing a yawn. As crucial the job was, it was very boring, especially when it's been a while since the last attack.

Feeling just as bored, the sergeant looks at the officer in the corner of his eye. He was just about 6 feet tall, at first glance seemed skinny but his men would testify there was a fair amount of muscle under that uniform. His short blonde hair was swept back with a small ponytail on the back of his neck.

"Hey Cap."

"Yeah?" The officer replies, keeping his eyes toward the outside of the base.

"Any news from home?" The sergeant reaches for a thermos, pouring some coffee into a mug.

"Yeah," Thompson smiles. "My youngest sister's graduating from primary in two months. Dang it, it didn't seem too long ago when she enrolled."

The sergeant chuckles, "Kids grow fast," speaking from his experience. "I swear I didn't seem too long ago when my little girl was just learning how to walk. Next thing I know she's graduating from university."

"How's the family business?" He then asks.

"Things have been slow lately, but Mom says they're still making enough to cover all our expenses. I have a feeling I need to send them some money soon though."

The sergeant nods, "I see."

The Thompson family business made just enough to maintain basic needs. Wyatt was the one who covered his brothers and sisters' schooling and paid for losses when the family business falls short.

"You're planning to be there for your sister's graduation?"

"Hell yeah… it's the least I can do… I just wish I was around more often."

"You're not the only one," the sergeant agrees soberly, thinking of his wife and daughter who he hasn't seen for almost 2 years. He lets out a sigh of frustration, "Sometimes I wish we can just go to Ishval with everything we have or maybe talk with the Ishvalans for a compromise… Just to end this already…"

"Yeah…" Thompson nods, sharing his subordinate's frustration. "If I ever find out who shot that kid back in 1901 and the bastard's still alive, I'm gonna shoot him in the balls."

"I'd probably shoot him between the eyes," the sergeant growls.

* * *

At another compound far west of Enfield and Thompson's, a general enters his office. He just finishing a one mile run around the command building, a part of his usual pre-dawn exercise routine. He was in very good shape for a forty-three year old, not panting that heavily as he jogs into his bedroom.

After he washes up and changes into his uniform, he walks back into his office and sits behind his desk, the name plate on it read, _Brig. Gen. James Franklin Heckler_.

Aside from the usual blue military uniform, wore a black beret over his bald head and a pair of glasses, his graying thick and bushy mustache and beard which almost obscures his mouth when it's closed.

He makes quick work of the stack placed in the "incoming" box; his unassuming blue eyes quickly scan each document for a few seconds before he writes down whatever is needed. As he is about half way through the stack, a man steps through the door.

The general looks up. The man was about ten years younger than he was, just about six feet with an average build, his reddish blond hair stylized into a crew cut and his blue eyes look through a pair of glasses.

Col. Adam Whitney Koch snaps attention before him before handing a leather pouch, "Dispatch from our engineers, sir."

Heckler's eyebrows peak hearing this, "It's 'bout time…" He reaches out to receive the pouch, undoes the bind that kept it closed and pulls out a long awaited dispatch.

The brigadier general smiles as he read, "Adam, looks like the gun carriers just passed the requirements we given for their trials. Production models will be ready by the end of the month."

The colonel shows a wide grin, "Alright…" His grin grows wider, "And looks like you lost our bet, Jamie, 1000 cenz please."

James Heckler or 'Jamie' as friends call him raises his eyebrow and returns the grin. "Whatever…" He shakes his as he fishes the money out of his pocket, slapping the bill onto Adam's hand.

The younger man chuckles, "Nice doing business, good buddy."

"Well got our shafts," Jamie's right elbow rests on top of the desk, his hand holding his chin, fingers going through the strands of his beard. "What we need now are the alchemists for our spearheads…"

"Been working on those," Adam replies. "Give me a minute; I'll fish out their files out in my office."

Jamie nods, "Hustle."

With a quick salute, Adam leaves the room.

The general now rest both elbows on the desk, his hands clasped together and resting against his mouth.

_If we play our cards right… We might just end this before next summer. …not to mention before my niece's sent to the front line…_

_

* * *

_

Central, the seat of government, a bustling metropolis and arguably Amestris' largest city, complete with nearly everything Amestrian society has to offer as well as a lasting and rarely disturbed sense of peace imposed by the proximity of the government's presence.

Eighteen year old Riza Hawkeye lies on her bed, her eyes wide open. Dawn would come in a few hours but has she has yet to have even a minute of sleep.

She had just enlisted into the military a week ago, a decision that didn't go easy for her to say the least. She's amazed she actually went through with it, despite the very serious and very permanent implications it will have on her life.

A part of her dreaded – even hated – the military, she knew sooner or later she'll be forced to kill someone. Something she didn't want to do.

She's starting to wonder if she was doing the right thing. And is it worth what she'll put herself through? Does she really want to become a soldier? Is that the only way for her to attain her dream? Is there no other alternative?

And then there was _him_. What would he think? How would he react to her decision?

Riza sighs, rubbing her forehead.

"Damn it…"

* * *

Somewhere in the Eastern Desert, a small band of soldiers move half-crouched through the sands, each man mindfully stepping into each other's tracks. The hoods of their white desert coats placed over their heads.

Maj. Kyosuke Nanbu checks his rifle as they move, checking the breech before turning off the safety. He looks up ahead, scans the desert for a small Ishvalan village. Intel reports said that everybody in there was supplying the resistance. But experience told Kyosuke that you take claims like that with a grain of salt. Ishvalans moved around a lot between to do trade and for pilgrimage, a large group of people moving into a village all at once for those reasons wasn't all that uncommon. Of course there was the chance somebody got it all wrong again. The intelligence network here in East Amestris left a lot to be desired.

Running beside him was Lt. Col. Excellen Browning, with her rifle slung behind one shoulder, she strains her eyes referring to map of the area, the moon her only source of light.

"It should be about half a kilometer from here now…" She announces. "Look alive, squad."

"Ma'am."

Excellen folds up the map and slips into her coat uniform's side pocket and arms herself with her rifle. No one but several members of their division knew they were out here. They're part of an operation secretly done under the cover of night for several months, doing raids on alleged rebel strongholds.

Half an hour later, they find the village. It was fairly medium in size, about eighteen to twenty houses loosely built together.

Excellen sends scouts to do reconnaissance, another half hour later they return.

"The area around the village is clear, ma'am. No sign of ambush parties."

The female officer nods, "Sharpshooters, set a perimeter, shoot anyone who tries breaking out."

"Yes, ma'am."

She turns to second in command. "Major, take your squad and begin gathering up the villagers."

Nanbu nods, "Squad, move out."

The group separates, a dozen men slowly follow Kyosuke into the village half-crouched and as little sound as possible. The marksmen go in different directions parallel to the village to set up sniping positions. Excellen and five other men remain in position to support Kyosuke's group in case anything goes wrong.

After making a certain distance Kyosuke's unit breaks up as they run to the different houses, men begin forcing the doors open. They round up all the people in several minutes, there were about sixty to seventy people.

"That's all of them," a sergeant announces as he comes out the last house.

"Right…" Kyosuke turns on his flashlight, aims it at Excellen position. He turns it on and off in a pattern. A light flashes back at them and the six soldiers move in.

"We've searched the houses," a sergeant reports as his commanding officer arrives. "Besides some old rifles, no weapons found."

"That was easy enough…" Kyosuke comments as he takes off his hood, his dark brown hair glint in the moonlight.

Excellen takes off her hood, revealing her wavy blonde hair tied in a ponytail behind the top of her crown as she looks over to the radioman, "Call it in."

With that, he sets his unit up, after winding up the crank for a minute to charge the battery and then readjusting the frequency, he hands the receiver to Excellen.

With receiver in hand Excellen breaks squelch or activates the receiver for one second without saying anything. She didn't want their transmissions to be intercepted, that's one of the last the things everyone would want to happen when they're well within unfriendly territory with no backup to bail them out.

She figured she was supposed to interrogate them, find out what she, that was one of her specialties and possible bring to some the villagers with them. If that was the case this call was simply let them know they've achieved their objective.

She breaks squelch for a second again. This time someone gets on the radio replying simply, "Kill them."

Kyosuke frowns, looking at his superior finding her blue eyes meeting up with his brown ones, perplexed.

She breaks squelch again – twice. Again, they man replies. "Kill them"

Excellen finally breaks silence, "Excuse me?"

"Kill everybody you got there."

The Lt. Colonel scowls, "You're talking about sixty or so people, some of them maybe friendly. Are you aware of that?"

"Kill them," Was the only reply.

"Can I have a name and rank?" She demands, her voice was stronger than she intended.

"Young lady," the voice said, now a little louder and forceful. "I assure you that I outrank you by five ranks and twenty years. And I'm telling you to kill them all."

"That's not how I operate," Excellen snaps. "I am not going 'kill them all' until I get somebody on this goddamn radio who will tell me who the hell they are and by what authority I'm doing the killing!"

Two people who claimed to be very, very high ranking officials got on the radio. One them said to her, "By the order of the Fuhrer, I'm telling you that the previous transmission given is what you are to adhere to."

Excellen looks at the receiver in hand, she turns toward the villagers. _God help us…_

"Major," She looks away with disgust, "Take over for me… Do what they want…"

Kyosuke simply nods.

With that, Excellen walks out of the village. Concerned for her safety, the radioman and several others follow a slight distance behind her.

Kyosuke gets with 8 men of his squad. He tells them the order to terminate the people they had.

It was a double bind. If they did it, they're going to be ill at ease with themselves. If they didn't, they're going to be in a lot of trouble when they get back. They decide have the four other men on the squad who were on guard to do it.

They _enjoyed_ killing.

He tells them the situation, they reply with grins from ear to ear. They can't wait to get started. The four pull back to where the villagers were, while Kyosuke and the other eights soldiers take over the guard positions. Kyosuke could hear them ordering the people to lie on the ground with their hands behind their backs…

From the distance, Excellen finally hears the first shots. She closes her eyes and grits her teeth as the screaming and swearing begin, partially drowned out by the reports of each shot echoing across the desert.

One by one – men, women and children – the voices fell silent as each shot takes a life.

As the minutes pass as though they were hours, one voice remained. It was of a man, screaming curses at the killers. His eyes were wide, streaming with tears, the blood and brain matter of his wife covered his face. It wouldn't be a stretch of the imagination to say he had gone insane.

"Ishval strike them all down!" He screams at the top of his lungs with all his might. "If you truly exist, strike them all d –!"

The last shot fires. Its echo reverberates across the desert as it once again falls silent.

Excellen watches as the houses are set on fire. Each start out as barely noticeable flickers, but all eventually grew into large pillars, visible for miles around.

Minutes later, Kyosuke's squad walks up toward her.

"Lt. Colonel, the task has been done." Kyosuke reports, "We best be going, the fires are sure to get some attention."

She simply nods, not looking away.

The major turns around toward the village, staring into the flames.

_What the hell did we achieve here?_

"Kyosuke…" She murmurs his first name for the time in days. "Why hasn't God strike us down yet?"

The Lt. Colonel seemed stoic. But they've known each other from way back, she was hurting inside.

He shrugs, "Dunno, maybe he's got some plans for us."

She smiles sadly, "I wonder what that could be?"

The Lt. Colonel looks at him, "Have you sent our requests for transfer again?"

He nods, "I have some replies but they're no better than where we are now."

"Please keep trying."

"Okay."

Dawn arrives in Central, the cold of the recent night leaves a coat of dew as darkness gives way to light.

* * *

Major Isaac McDougal walks out of gates of the city's main prison – the only place he could be jail without escape – sack bag on his left shoulder. For his whole time in there, he rarely spoke. Any attempt of conversation would be answered by a cold, angry glare.

He makes it out to the sidewalk, slipping his free hand into his pocket and begins to walk.

Isaac just completed his three month sentence for multiple counts assault and battery. Truth was, it could've easily been attempted murder.

He was in into a bar having a beer, talking with some old friends. Several teens were next to them, overhearing the older men conversation, one guy asks, "Home on leave?"

"No," Isaac replies. "Reverted into reserves"

"Where were you stationed," a girl about nineteen asked.

"East"

"How do you feel killing all those innocent people?" she asks out of nowhere.

He didn't know what to say. The bartender got a little uptight but says nothing.

"Excuse me," he calls the bartender. "Can I buy them all drink?"

He felt guilty. He did kill. And he tried to make amends for it.

"We don't accept any drinks from killers."

His anger then showed.

"Oh, you're going to get nasty now?"

When the girl came to, she'll find herself on a hospital bed. Bruised and broken all over, along her friends who tried helping her. It took six of Isaac's friends restraining him, to keep him from killing them. Only the Lord knows why he didn't use his alchemy.

Isaac arrives at a cemetery, standing on the same side of the hill where he said goodbye to a childhood friend of his a year before, killed in the line of duty in the East Desert. He mourned and brooded in anger. Unlike some of his fellow soldiers, he attended with his full uniform on, enduring the glares and bitter remarks.

On his way to the cemetery he could tell everybody was getting into the holiday. Something he hasn't able to deal with type of thing for almost two years. He goes into a depression and he stayed there ever since. A lot of people he knew were still fighting over in the East, all the while some people here were celebrating on the fucking holiday as if nothing was happening in the world.

_Don't our sacrifices mean anything? Have we become dogs nothing? Don't we deserve something for all the blood and death we go through? What's the matter with all of you? How can you deal with this?_

That's how he felt. He wanted someone to pick a fight with him. He was ready to hit anybody who got in his way over anything.

He was angry, and he felt no reason to stop being so.

* * *

Adam walks back into Jamie's office holding several folders, "Here they are." He hands them to his superior and friend as he walks to his side.

"Lt. Col. Excellen Browning, the Ivory Light Alchemist, 23 years old, current commander for special services unit five, a skilled markswoman and has a background in interrogation and intelligence. Also get this, she's been looking to get out of special services for months."

"Hmm…" Jamie rubs his chin, "Well, looks like she'll get her wish."

"Maj. Kyosuke Nanbu, the Steel Wolf Alchemist, 22 years old, commander for special services unit seven, a noted tactical squad leader and a close quarter specialist. He's been looking to getting out as well.

"Makes my call to Special Services even better, two in the price of one favor the division head owes me."

"Maj. Isaac McDougal, the Freezing Alchemist, 28 years old, he's good in intelligence gathering, surveillance and counter-surveillance, recon, and infiltration, pretty much a ghost. He's currently in Central assigned in the reserves after he got injured last year. He's completely recovered from what I hear."

"It's a shame to have talent like that go to waste," Jamie comments. "Hope he's not enjoying his reservist status too much."

"Capt. Wyatt "Buster" Baxter Thompson, the Blade Storm Alchemist –"

"Captain?" Jamie looks at Adam with a raise eyebrow.

"He got demoted by Fessler," he explains. "Got into a fight in a bar and punched him the face."

"I like him already, what's he got?"

"He's 20 years old, currently assigned to security detail in 14th Infantry's compound. Has mechanical and metal-working experience, a close quarter specialist with explosives background."

Jamie nods with approval, "It'll be like pulling teeth, but I'll get Fessler to hand him over."

The general opens the next folder finding a familiar name. He chuckles. "Mikhail Enfield… Not too surprising."

_Title: Healing Blade_

His specialties include battlefield medicine and one of the leading practitioners for the field of medical alchemy, has been noted for skill in close quarter combat, wilderness survival and marksmanship in his time with the Northern Guard Corps and in the Briggs.

_Currently assigned with the 14th Infantry battalion, serving as both as surgeon and battalion commander._

Jamie closes Enfield's file, "Just five candidates? I guess there's not much of a selection available huh?"

Adam shrugs, "Most are either too green or too busy in their current assignments. I've been eyeing on another guy, Roy Mustang the Flame Alchemist, pretty solid choice but he's tied up right now."

"Send me his files; I'll see if I can get him in as well."

Colonel Koch nods, "Right."

Jamie watches as Adam leaves the room. _The pieces are falling together…_

_

* * *

_

With bag on his left shoulder, Mikhail steps out of the train car after spending a day and a half in it.

It was almost midnight but the lights in the station were still on. Unlike most of Central, this place never sleeps.

At night, with few passenger trains around, the mail trains come in. Parcels, mailbags and letters, all exchanged and sorted, placed on platform trolleys clattering up and down. The racket is enough to keep anyone who doesn't sleep like a rock up through out the night.

As the train door closes behind him, Mikhail fishes a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket; he bites one filter and pulls one stick out. He then pulls out a Zippo from his back pant pocket, he flips open the cap and flicks the igniter.

The cigarette ember glows a bright orange yellow as he breaths in, smoke exits through his nostrils as he breaths out. He rolls his head along his shoulders to loosen up his neck, doing so he catches sight of a familiar face standing not too far away.

Riza stood alone on the platform with him. As he lights the cigarette, she notes his skin was pale, and he seem to have lost some weight. When Mikhail becomes aware of her, he pinches the ember of his cigarette and pockets it, and straightens out his slightly disheveled clothes before walking up toward her.

As he comes closer, Riza notes another change in him, his eyes.

It was something about them and the lines on the skin below that made him seem… different. She wasn't comfortable with them as they look right back at her. She found Mikhail's normally inviting smile sending a chill up her spine.

_So… this is what a soldier would look like…_

"Hey there…" Mikhail smiles tiredly. "Been waiting long?"

She looks up to him, returning his smile "Quite a bit, but it's nothing."

He puts his free arm around her, she puts arms around him.

"Long time no see, Riza."

"You too, Mikhail."

Mikhail felt good holding her, the war hasn't afford him the luxury of keep contact with her or his parents aside from a few letters. Just being able to see his old friend was reward enough.

As they pull away from each other, Riza decides on telling him now rather than later. _Here goes…_

Riza and Mikhail sat on one of the benches, the mail services continue on their work.

"I see…" He murmurs, his elbows resting on his knees as he lean on them.

She looks on as Mikhail stares straight ahead.

Riza had known him since she was five. They first met when she and her mother visited her uncle in a local hunting club in their hometown. He was 17, practicing his offhand rifle shooting, noticing her covering her ears with her hands as she watched.

He was the closest thing she had for a brother. The closest family she had when her mother died.

"You really sure about this?" He says finally, looking at her in the corner of his eye.

Riza looks down to the platform pavement, taking a breath and then letting it out.

"To tell you the truth, I'm not too sure."

Mikhail turns his head to her, "You can still back out."

She shakes her head, "I can't do that."

Mikhail goes back looking forward, rubbing the back of his head. He pulls out the cigarette he had earlier, lighting it again. He blows smoke up into the air.

"Being a soldier isn't what it's cracked up to be." He comments, "The pay's lousy, the food's crap, you sometimes just sleep an hour a day, you lug around stuff here and there, or digging dirt for trenches or whatever. When the shooting starts you have to follow your orders to the death if required. Disobey orders and you may end up being shot. You're quite literally a dog following where the master throws the stick."

"And no matter how high your rank, you're still a dog." Mikhail crushes the remaining ember of his cigarette and tosses the butt into a trashcan.

He looks at her again. "Do you think you can survive that kind of life?"

Riza continues to looks down on the pavement. "I'm not really sure. To tell you the truth, the more I think about, the more I'm wonder what I'm thinking."

"I scared and a part of me doesn't want anything to do with it. But…" Her brown eyes look unwaveringly into his green eyes. "If I want to accomplish my goal, I have to get past my fears and doubts. Just like you when joined the army."

Mikhail looks at her for a moment, then smiles. "You have a point there… I gained more medical experience than I would have as a civilian. And I've accessed and learned from some of the most advanced material on medical alchemy."

He stands up, slinging his sack bag over his shoulder. "It'll still a long time before the stigma of medical alchemy can be broken. But that day's coming closer."

His hand reaches out to her, "You've really grown, Riza."

She looks up to him, feeling a part of her anxiety melting away. She smiles at him, grabbing hold of his hand as she got up. "Thank you."

The two make small talk as they walk out the station as life within it went on.

"Does Heckler know?"

"Yes, uncle gave me his support."

"How 'bout your boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend. And yes."

"You trust him enough to see that tattoo."

"That's because he needed to see my father's notes."

"I dunno… You two have the same dream don't you? It's rare to find someone with the same interests. Thought up of a name for your kid yet?"

"Mikhail…"

"Heheh, just kidding."

* * *

**A/N:** Well… here's my first stab on this side of the pond. Pardon for the near lack of canon characters, I should be able add slices of their lives in the next chapters. Reviews and constructive criticism welcome, I need to see where my skill degraded anyway.


End file.
